Juniper Berries
by JuniperGentle
Summary: A collection of drabbles and very short one-shots focusing on the Blade-breakers and their friends. #11 - In A Manner Of Speaking - Johnny MacGregor ponders his upbringing and his place on the Majestics.
1. Ghosts in the Machine

**Ghosts in the Machine**

When October 31st came round, Tyson got a bit overexcited. Sweets, chocolate, sugar... and this year, _all_ of his friends could come trick-or-treating with him!

There was just one small problem.

Kai.

He refused point blank to go anywhere near a fancy-dress shop, and on the day itself, pinned a notice to the dojo gates: _No Trick-or-Treating Here_.

"Spoilsport!"

"Hn."

And that was it. Tyson the Zombie left, Max the Ghost and Daichi the Mummy in tow.

Kai stayed behind, alone, in the dark.

There were enough ghosts and bogeymen in his head. He didn't need any more.


	2. Nerves

**Nerves**

Tyson unnerved Brooklyn.

It wasn't that Tyson acted strangely around him. The opposite, in fact.

Nor was it the fact that he had managed to beat him.

And it wasn't even that he considered _him _a friend_._ Kai, that was.

It was just that... he was so _persistent._ Even Garland didn't have that much stubbornness.

Brooklyn had told Tyson to go away, had _snarled_ at him to go away, had attacked Dragoon, Hiro, Grampa; had even attacked Tyson himself. He had dropped the dojo light on Tyson's head three times now, and at least two of those times he _knew_ Tyson knew it was him. He had yanked out the nails in the stair carpet, had smashed several very valuable vases belonging to Tyson's mother, along with some photo frames containing pictures of people Brooklyn would never meet. He had deliberately changed channels at the dramatic moment in the show he was watching... you name it, and Brooklyn had tried it.

But he still wouldn't go away. Brooklyn was very confused.

Eventually, he broke. "Why?" he asked, throwing all his confusion and hurt and rage into the question.

Tyson just smiled. "You can't be much worse than Kai."

* * *

><p>AN: Yeah, I know that Brooklyn probably went to stay with Garland after BEGA went down (see the Japanese version of the last episode of G-Rev) but who's to say he couldn't have stayed with Tyson? Who is, after all, ridiculously accepting of _anyone_ who wants to stay at the dojo.


	3. Nil Desperandum

A present, by request, for crazingonbeyblade111, who asked for "a drabble centred round the BEGA bladers (mainly Brooklyn, though), in a maths lesson at school" So here goes...

* * *

><p><strong>Nil Desperandum<strong>

He _hated_ maths. And algebra was worse. It just didn't make any _sense._

x+2y-w=54

2x+y=73

_Aargh._

Mystel leaned over. "You okay, Brooke?"

The so-called genius put his head in his hands. "But how does it _work?"_

Mystel looked shocked, almost affronted. "You do this all the time, Brooke, it's easy!"

"I do?"

"Yeah, it's just blading in written form... like, _x_ is the launch speed, _y_ is the ripcord and _w_ is the dish size!" Mystel leaned back, looking proud of himself.

Oh.

_Oh._

Well, that made more sense.

.

Only Mystel ever understood the sudden jump in Brooklyn's algebra grade.

* * *

><p><em>AN - the title is Latin for "do not despair", which I thought kind of fitted with this._


	4. Split Allegiance

**Split Allegiance**

Tala belongs to everyone.

His fans own him, the tiny part that they are allowed to see, the very tip of the iceberg. They own that cold outer shell, the smirk and the attitude and the sheer _bad boy_ of his existence. That's what Tala gives to the fans.

His team own him. They expect much in return for their fealty. They own his scheming brain, with those clever plans and not-so-clever plans, the blade schematics, the sharp orders, the strict training regime. That's what Tala gives to his team.

Kai – Tala's best friend – owns him. Tala would probably die for Kai, not that he'd ever admit it, and Kai would respond in kind. Kai owns Tala's heart, the little unfrozen fragment of it that is allowed to consider another more important than Tala's own well-being. That's what Tala gives to Kai.

Boris owns him. He owns every breath, every cell, every drop of blood in Tala's body. Ever since Boris dragged Tala off the streets and into the abbey, he has owned him, every part of him. That's what Boris takes from Tala.

But at the same time, Tala belongs to me, and me alone.

I own his soul.

* * *

><p>Yes, a mystery! This double drabble goes with the next chapter, where the identity of Tala's fifth 'owner' will be revealed.<p> 


	5. Tala

**Tala**

I own Tala.

He is my partner, my only friend and ally. My strong, young wolf. I have shared everything with him: every victory, every bitter defeat. If I ate, I'd share my food with him. If I slept, I'd sleep by him.

I am part of him, living inside his soul, nestling against its icy fur and using all the strength that I have to spare to warm it a little. I even succeed occasionally.

I'm probably the only one except Tala himself to know he even has a soul. How sad.

I am Wolborg.

Tala belongs to me.


	6. Cogito Ergo Sum

**Cogito Ergo Sum**

Descartes had once said "I think, therefore I am." Zeo took particular exception to this.

In Zeo's world, the computer inside my head makes me think, therefore I am made.

Hand-made, by science more than love. Manufactured memories that might or might not have happened. The ability to play the violin that was probably programmed rather than learned, as he could never get past that passage in Vivaldi's _Spring. _The aqua-green hair that never had and never would grow (cutting it had been his first bad call, though the first of many after discovering what he really was).

Was it like this in everyone's head, Zeo wondered? Probably not. No-one else had a chip inside their brain that ordered metal and wires to move fake arms and fake legs to do what the control tower demanded. Or at least, if they did, they didn't know it.

He knew. It was one of the few things he did know, at least with any certainty. Philosophy lessons didn't help that in the least. If it was human to doubt, surely a... a thing like him, who was not human, should be certain of more than the fact he wasn't real.

Zeo growled and slammed the philosophy book down on the table. _I think, therefore I am._

Was he really in control? Or was that just what the computer made him think? Maybe his father had a secret remote control that could make him think things and think that he'd thought of them himself. Maybe the original programming made him think that his father had a secret control? Zeo put his head in his hands. This was going far too far.

What did he really know, and what was programmed into him? He knew his father loved him. Programming, definitely. He knew that Tyson was his friend. Probably real, actually. He knew that he really couldn't understand philosophy, and eventually decided that that was probably real too, as someone being programmed to _not_ understand something was just bizarre.

_I think, therefore I am._ Meaning, of course, that if I know that I'm thinking, I know that I must exist. I must be real.

In Zeo's case, he knew that he really was just a computer with wires and electrons and stuff that just buzzed around. There was no mystery there. Descartes had it wrong.

_I think, therefore someone made me think._

It really was very frustrating.

.

And then Zeo met Tala. And his world turned upside down.

Because someone had once made Tala think what they wanted Tala to think. And then Tala had slammed the door _on his own brain_ and built his own private fortress of thoughts that was governed by only one idea. _Freedom._

Freedom of thought. Freedom of speech. Freedom to beyblade when and where and who he liked. Freedom to be Tala. Freedom just to _be._

Freedom to say _I am._

Zeo craved that freedom. More than anything, he wanted the freedom in Tala's eyes, in his voice, in his mind. He wanted to think and to know that the thoughts were his own. He didn't care if it didn't mean he actually existed or not – that wasn't the important thing in Zeo's mind. Having his own thoughts was worth more to Zeo than being able to play the last passage of _Spring._ It meant more than being able to beat Tyson. It meant more than having a real body, a real father, real _anything._ It meant more than anything else in the entire world.

Because if Zeo said _I am,_ it still didn't make him like Tala, or anyone else for that matter.

Because when everyone else said _I am,_ Zeo said _I am cyborg._

.

And Tala just smirked, and said _I am too._

* * *

><p><em>AN – this was never meant to be Zeo/Tala, though I guess you might manage to read it that way if you squint. It was meant to be Zeo being human enough to look up to Tala as a kind of superhero, and Tala being human enough to look down and wave (or smirk, anyway)._


	7. To Last Or Be Last

**To Last Or Be Last**

It was a Thursday night when Kai found out. It shouldn't have mattered that it was a Thursday, it just bugged him. It should have been a Monday, or a Saturday. Monday would mean he had an entire week at college to think it over and decide what to do before doing it. Thinking things over very carefully and examining every angle was one of his strengths. Saturday would mean he had to be spontaneous and quick-thinking, something else he was very good at.

Thursdays were just... _annoying._ Too much time to be impulsive, too little time to think things over. The worst of both possible worlds when confronted with a piece of paper that would change his life forever.

_We regret to inform you that Mr Voltaire Hiwatari has passed away..._

He'd found the letter at the bottom of a pile of other official-looking ones when he'd got home from college and finally summoned up the energy to go through at least _some_ of the paperwork on his desk. He supposed it was his own fault for wanting to learn how to control the company in part before he was landed with the whole lot. It just meant lots of paper-work on top of whatever school work he still had to do.

Well, it looked like he was landed with the whole lot now.

_Mr. Voltaire Hiwatari has passed away... his sole remaining heir... come to our office to complete matters as soon as is reasonable... understand this is a very trying time... anything we can do..._

Kai leant his head against the tall back of the chair with a sigh. So it had happened at last. He was, finally, the very last Hiwatari.

He wondered if the last dodo felt anything like he did now. Had it even known it was about to be wiped from the face of the earth?

The last Hiwatari.

_Master Kai, you are being melodramatic._

_Thank you _so very much_ for your kind words, Dranzer. Now shut up._

_Master Kai. Stop it. You are not a dodo._

_What has that got to do with anything?_

_You are a phoenix._

And, as if that explained everything, Dranzer's voice vanished.

Muttering something about pesky fire-birds who couldn't make sense at the best of times, Kai got to his feet and stretched. The desk in front of him was an inch thick in paper, but the only important one was in a little clear space of its own. He'd deal with it tomorrow. Tomorrow was Friday, and that was close enough to Saturday that he could pretend it was him being impulsive. It wouldn't take much.

The last Hiwatari.

Kai suddenly grinned mercilessly. He liked the sound of that. Taking one last look at the solicitor's letter and its official crest, he left the room and switched the light out.

_The last Hiwatari._

* * *

><p><em><em>A/N - Hmm... another random one-shot that appeared out of nowhere. _MIGHT_ come up with a sequel to it one day. We'll see.


	8. A Question of Substance

**A Question of Substance**

Okay, people.

This is just getting stupid.

It's always the same. _Exactly_ the same.

You know the phrase curiosity killed the cat? Well, you probably know by now that I quite like cats, so _stop killing them. _Stop asking me questions about things that I don't really care about, and that to be honest, you probably don't either.

Yeah, I know that being part of a world-famous blading team requires a few public appearances, and more than a few interviews with the press, even if I am supposedly the least sociable of all my team, but seriously? Why do you _always_ want the answers to the same questions _every_ time?

_Do you have a girlfriend? Do you have a crush on any of your team-mates? Who do you like?_

I've already told you the answers. Not once, not twice – most of them it's more than ten times. Just... _stop,_ okay? Ask me something a bit more challenging than "Hey, Kai, do you have a crush on Hilary/Julia/Ray/Tyson/Daichi (seriously? He's a _child_ for goodness sake!)?" Or "Kai, do you have any hidden secrets in your past that haunt you?"

Um, hello? Secrets are _secret,_ people. And my past is _my_ past. Don't go poking around there, I'm warning you.

Ask me _why_ I want to beat Tyson so badly. Ask me _why _I always have and always will treat Hilary and Kenny with as much respect as I do the best of bladers, even though Hilary in particular couldn't launch a blade if her life depended on it. Ask me _why_ I'm never there when my team want me but always there when they need me. Ask me any of those and though I can't promise you an answer, I'll certainly make it look like I'm thinking about hanging around for one more question before I storm out of the studio due to the idiocy of the interviewer.

Just don't ask me yet another stupid question about my non-existent love-life, my past or why I'm always in such a bad mood – you can work that one out for yourselves.

Was I abused as a child? If I was, would I tell _you? _Thought not.

Do I have a girlfriend? No.

Do I have a boyfriend? No.

Do I have a secret crush on anyone, male or female? _No._

Sorry for bursting your bubble, but the only thing I love, and the only thing I will _ever_ love, is blading - and Dranzer, of course. Everything else pretty much doesn't register.

Trust me, you don't want me to love anyone the way I love blading. Remember everything I've done to Dranzer? That's the way I treat the thing I love more than my own life, love in the only way I know how. Want me to do that to a real, live _human,_ who doesn't have supernatural healing powers to draw on or the regenerative ability of a phoenix? Thought not.

I really don't know why you want to know all this stuff. I'm not unknown. I'm not unknowable either. I'm not even that mysterious. That's just what you want to think, because for some reason some of you seem to think that having blue triangles on your face makes you different to everyone else. Makes you special.

I'm not special because of stupid triangles. So stop trying to make me into an idol, because I'm certainly not one of those. I wouldn't want my kid, or any kid, to grow up like me.

And before you ask if I have a kid, the answer is also _no._

I'm not mysterious, I'm not nice, and I'm not going to answer any more questions.

* * *

><p><em>AN – This was so much fun to write – it wrote itself in about forty minutes. It is not aimed at anyone or any fic whatsoever. Though in my fics I don't support any particular pairing, I enjoy reading the various romance fics that there are around (though not yaoi). I was just trying to imagine what Kai's reaction to being asked the same question a thousand times would be. So I let him start ranting and boy, if he didn't stop..._


	9. Bedtime Story

**Bedtime Story**

At first, they thought Kai didn't sleep at all. He was always awake before they were even thinking of opening their eyes, and if he did sleep, it wasn't until long after they'd crawled into the soft safeness of their futons.

Gradually, as Kai learnt to trust them, they found him asleep more and more. And it was at this point that they learned that it wasn't so much that Kai never slept, but that he just never slept in his own bed. _Paranoia,_ Tala explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world._ Long story._

The first bed Kai appropriated was in fact Tala's, which was understandable, as Tala couldn't sleep in any temperatures above fourteen degrees Celsius, and therefore tended to sleep in the garden – or even the garage. Therefore, reasoned Tyson, staring at the comatose Phoenix, it was a case of possession is nine-tenths of the law – or in this case, appropriation is ten-tenths of the law, as there was no way they were going to get Kai off of there without sustaining serious injury.

Tala snapped a bit, but went back to sleep on the roof.

When Tala left, the next to go was Daichi's, which was also understandable, as the red-head had a habit of waking up at four in the morning and considering that a normal hour to be up and about. Kai could get in an extra four hours of practice every night without anyone to disturb him, and then have a comfortable (and still-warm) bed to fall into for a couple of hours. On his discovery, Daichi had poked him. But only once.

When Daichi left for his home town, Kai was left with a dilemma. The remaining Blade-breakers and their friends tended to keep to the traditional hours of sleeping, which made Kai's job rather harder. Eventually, the Blade-breakers discovered him sleeping stretched across the bottom of three futons (Kai was _really_ tall) – Max's, Hilary's and Mariah's. This had prompted an unnerving amount of fan-girlish screaming, and Kai was never found there again.

As the group got smaller, it became clear that Kai was intending to steal the bed of whoever wasn't in it at the time. It became kind of a lottery of hours – before midnight, most of the beds were empty, but between the hours of twelve and six, Kai had to stay awake or break his own unwritten rule. So he gradually started disappearing again.

Until the day they found him curled up in _Julia's_ bed.

.

At which point they called Tala again.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, Juniper has absolutely no idea where this came from or what on earth it might be taken to mean. Make of it what you will.<strong>


	10. Team

_ZAK - I shall see about doing a Johnny chapter for you as soon as I've finished some of my other projects._

* * *

><p><em>In Tyson's battle against Kai in G-Revolution, he made it clear that he could use all the attacks of those he had fought against. But that wasn't all... <em>

_Drabble._

* * *

><p><strong>Team<strong>

We are the Blade-breakers. We fight as a team; we fight as one.

As one, we attack with the invisible force of the wind. That came from Tyson.

We absorb the opponent's attacks, drowning them. Water cannot be cut, cannot be broken. That came from Max.

We dance around the dish like lightning, brilliant, fast and terrifying. That is Ray's doing.

In our hearts, we burn with passion for the game. That is the fire at the centre of all we do. That is from Kai.

We support each other. We learn from each other.

We are a team.


	11. In A Manner Of Speaking

_Z-A-K, a Johnny chapter for you just as I promised. Very late, I know, but at least it's here!_

_Based on the one thing about Johnny MacGregor that really, really annoys me, more than anything else on the Majestics team._

* * *

><p><strong>In A Manner Of Speaking<strong>

Johnny MacGregor was proud to be a member of the European champions team. One German, one Italian, one Frenchman and one Brit. Okay, technically a Scot, but Enrique still couldn't quite get the difference so Johnny tried to ignore it.

The other British bladers who were strong enough to challenge him could do so only on technical ability. Despite the thousands of stories about magical beasts roaming the forests and fields of England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland, bit-beasts were rare in the British Isles. Johnny only had his through his family, handed down as an heirloom. With the backing of Salamalyon's phenomenal power, Johnny could tear through the competition like a stampede of the Highland cattle his clan had bred for generations.

It wasn't until he had reached the mainland European competitions that he had met someone worthy of his full strength. Wolfstorm hadn't even been worth his attention. Johnny was burning brilliance in a dark stadium, the sun that burnt away the moon that was Lupinex's power. Oliver's bright, shining unicorn wasn't much to the ferocious flames of Salamalyon, and Enrique's Amphilyon merely posed an interesting challenge that the nimble salamander danced free of.

But Robert's Gryffolyon? That was a different question altogether. Johnny had thrown everything he had at the German blader, and it still hadn't been enough. He had gone home with his blade in one piece but his pride seriously wounded, only to find a message on his house phone asking him to come and visit at some point, and Robert would teach him how to play chess. That way, Robert suggested, he might get a little better at strategy.

He wasn't very good at chess, he knew that. But his native stubbornness meant he could never back down from a challenge. One day he'd beat Robert, no matter what it took, or in what sort of competition.

So out in Europe, he was at the top. Revered. Honoured. He was the child of royalty, a prince of beyblading.

But back home, it was different. Back home there were the young lads and lasses who couldn't hope to match his power or the honour of his bloodline, but who still laughed behind his back when they thought he couldn't hear.

The problem was that yes, he _was _a MacGregor, and he had the wild, red hair and the temper to prove it. But whilst he had been born among the soft purple heathers, softer grey mist and hard grey-green stone of his Highland home, he had grown up with an aunt in America, and so his accent had never been able to form into the lilting tones of his home. Even Robert's English accent was better than his, though Johnny still laughed at how stilted and formal it was.

Of all of them, he should have been the natural. It was understandable if Enrique and Oliver had American accents when they spoke English – it was their second language, after all, and if their tutors had been American then it wouldn't be surprising. But him? The representative of Britain before the world? The representative of _Scotland_ before the world?

Why did it have to be him who couldn't manage to shift his voice into the lilting brogue of his Scotland home, who denied the very bloodline and clan that gave him such a presence – and such a power in his bit-beast – by the awkwardness of his speech and phrases?

_"If I had a nickle for every time I'd heard that..."_

He was too Scottish for America. But he was too American for Scotland.

That was why he was glad to be in the European team. One German, one Italian, one Frenchman, one Brit. That way, no-one could tell the difference, or so he hoped.


End file.
